


Things I Almost Remember

by Robottko



Series: One-Shots and Ficlets and Prompts, Oh My! [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Amnesia, M/M, Servants, princelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John may be falling for the son of the Duke, but everyone knows that royalty and servants never fall in love, especially when the Duke's son is engaged to a prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things I Almost Remember

John had been a servant for the Holmes family for as long as he could remember. His first memory was being rescued by Siger Holmes, Duke of Sherrinford, around five years previous. He had woken up in the woods with no memory of who he was, or where he was. When the Duke found him three hours later, he was cold and hungry. The Duke had taken pity on him, and brought him back to Sherrinford manor, where he was given food and medicine. 

They had guessed he was around 15 years old when the found him, just a year older than the Duke’s youngest son, Sherlock. Not that he had much interaction with him. Now, at the age of 20, the most Sherlock had ever said to him was to order him to clean the stables. 

The sound of hoofs reached John’s ears, and he groaned slightly, up to his knees in muck. He turned in time to see Sherlock and his black steed enter the stable.

"Ah, servant boy." Sherlock said, a smirk on his face. "You’ve managed to clean my stall in record time. I suppose you aren’t entirely useless."

"Thank you so much, my lord." John gritted out. "For your kind words."

"You’re done mucking out the rest of the stalls. I need you for something." Sherlock said decisively.

John looked at the piles horse manure that he still had to shovel, the looked back at Sherlock, a raised eyebrow his only response.

"Oh, relax." Sherlock sniffed. "I’ll assign someone else to finish up. I need someone to help me out with something more important than horse faeces."

"And what would that be, my lord?" John asked, wiping grime on his work trousers.

"I need to learn how to dance." Sherlock rolled his eyes, as though the whole idea of dancing was a ridiculous concept. "Next week, I am to meet my betrothed, and we are to be married."

"You’re betrothed?" John asked in shock. "Let me guess. Some kind of countess that’s as tall and dark as you."

"Actually, he’s the prince." Sherlock said, trying to sound boastful. "Prince Johann, next in line to rule the kingdom."

John frowned, the name sparking something in him. Perhaps he had heard of the prince before he had lost his memory. His confusion must have shown on his face, for Sherlock sighed again.

"He will be here in a week, and it is imperative that I learn how to dance."

"Why me, though?" John asked. "Why not have another servant help you dance? I was under the impression you didn’t like me very much, my lord."

"You’ve proven yourself not entirely useless." Sherlock repeated. "Remember to bathe before you enter the manor. I will not touch you when you’re covered in muck."

With those parting words, Sherlock swirled out of the stable, a bewildered John staring after him.

 

* * *

 

After John had bathed and changed, he made his way into the manor, unsure as of where to go. Thankfully, movement caught his eye immediately, and he spotted Sherlock staring down at him from the top of the grand staircase, his face unreadable.

“Come along, John.” Sherlock called, turning away from him and walking away loftily. With a shake of his head, John ran up the stairs, trying not to pant as he caught up to the Duke’s son. Sherlock glanced behind him once, giving John an appraising look before directing him into the large ballroom of the manor, where John could only assume the dance would be held.

“I am told Prince Johann is shorter than me.” Sherlock mused, turning to look at John once more. “Though I obviously don’t know how much shorter. I met him once, and we were about five.”

“You’re going to marry a man that you’ve only met once…as a boy?” John asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t exactly have a choice.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Mycroft shall take the duchy as soon as father is gone, and he has found a way to protect his assets. Even if I couldn’t stand the prince, I would have to marry him. If I were a commoner like yourself, I would never marry.”

“Not even if you fell in love?” John asked, jumping slightly when a servant entered the room, moving to the ornate fortepiano that was placed in the corner of the room and sitting down, beginning to play with expert ease.

John watched for a second, mesmerised by the music. Sherlock cleared his throat pointedly, and John turned back to him, placing his hands awkwardly on Sherlock’s shoulders. Their movements were stiff, and though they both knew the steps to a simple waltz, it felt uncoordinated.

“I won’t ever fall in love.” Sherlock said with derision. “It’s just a chemical defect, nothing more.”

“Hm.” John couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “Whatever you say, my lord. Now, let me lead. You’re really quite awful at this.”

John didn’t give him any time to make a scathing comment before taking the lead. Their movements went from choppy and awkward to smooth and graceful immediately, and John twirled Sherlock across the ballroom, laughing at the look of surprise on Sherlock’s face.

“Where on earth did you learn to dance like that?” Sherlock asked when the music ended, his arms still wrapped around the servants waist as if he were afraid to let go.

“I…uh, I don’t know.” John admitted, pulling away from Sherlock in embarrassment. “I can’t remember anything before…well…I came here.”

“I apologise.” Sherlock replied, folding his hands behind his back, his posture straightening to its normal, ramrod state. “I didn’t mean to be callous.”

“No, it’s fine.” John said. “So…tomorrow, then?”

“Obviously.” Sherlock seemed glad of the change in topics. “I need to see if your dancing is always this good, of it was just a fluke.”

“You’re such a prat.” John laughed without thinking. When he received a sharp glance from Sherlock, however, his laughter died in his throat. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean...goodnight.”

Without another word, John darted from the ballroom, embarrassment at getting too comfortable around the Duke’s son burning in his gut.

 

* * *

“You called me a prat yesterday.” John was greeted by Sherlock, his tone clearly pouting. “Why did you say that?”

“I didn’t…I’m sorry.” John stuttered, wondering what his punishment would be for such an act of insubordination. “That is how I talk to the people I consider my friends, my lord. It is an act of teasing, and I forgot my place for a moment. I promise it will never happen again.”

“Friends?” Sherlock asked, cocking his head to the side in a way that reminded John of a curious puppy. “You consider us friends? I don’t have friends.”

“No, my lord. I forgot my place.” John repeated, bowing his head. “You are very easy to talk to, and I was not paying attention. I apologise profusely.”

“It’s…fine.” Sherlock said slowly, as if tasting the words. “While we are in this room, you may consider yourself my…friend. It will give me the opportunity to learn how to socialise, which will prove useful when I am required to talk to Prince Johann.”

“Oh. Yes, I can do that, my lord.” John said, and Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, something that was beginning to happen more often.

“If we are to be ‘friends’, you must call me by my Christian name.” Sherlock explained as if he were talking to a child. John grinned at him, running a hand through his hair.

“Alright, then….Sherlock.” John said, holding out his hand as the servant who played the fortepiano came into the room, taking his place and beginning to play.

Their dance was no less graceful than the day before, Sherlock’s cheeks flushing from what John assumed to be exertion. When the music ended, John was reluctant to let go of Sherlock, and it seemed like he felt the same. They lingered for a few moments, trying to find words to say, before the Duke’s son stepped back, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Thank you, John. I do believe I will be an expert by this time next week.”

“A, yes. Your prince.” John replied, ducking his head. “He will be pleased that you’ve worked so hard.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded once, and John took his leave, exiting the ballroom with no less hurry than the night previous. He could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him as he left.

 

* * *

The rest of the week continued on in the same manner, John leading Sherlock across the dance floor, Sherlock becoming more accustomed to dancing. If the smile was any indication, Sherlock was actually enjoying himself, his dancing improving exponentially each night.

On their last night, no musician came in to play for them. When Sherlock pulled out a violin and began to play for him, he was pleasantly surprised. Sherlock was a man of many talents, and playing violin was no exception to that rule. He played with grace and accuracy, and John couldn’t help but be enchanted.

“It’s a little hard to dance with you so busy on your violin.” John teased after the third piece, and Sherlock smiled at him, setting down the violin and grabbing John, waltzing to a song that was only in his head.

John sighed, resting his head on Sherlock’s shoulder as they danced. Sherlock froze, stopping the waltz mid-step. John lifted his head from where he had just rested it, looking up at Sherlock in confusion. Sherlock gazed down at him, his face torn between dismay, and desire.

“John…I-”

“No, it’s fine.” John said, quelling the disappointment and sadness that was threatening to rise up in him. “Your fiancé….Prince Johann is who you’re going to marry.”

“John…” Sherlock tried again.

“No, Sherlock. I can’t do this to you, or to him. It wouldn’t be fair.” John said, shaking his head. “I’m so very sorry, my lord. You will make a fine prince.”

John quickly turned from Sherlock, using all his self-control to stop himself from running back into the ballroom, back to Sherlock.

 

* * *

The royal guard came early the next day, dressed in fine robes of black. While sweeping the floors of the palace, John overheard that the prince, Johann, had disappeared five years earlier. They had never found him, and thought him to be dead. The King and Duke would be having a feast of mourning, celebrating the life of the young prince, and the marriage that wasn’t to be.

John admonished himself at the brief swell of joy he felt when he heard about the prince’s demise. It would not do to feel pleasure at such a horrid occasion, and Sherlock could never be his, anyway. The son of a Duke could not love a servant with no past.

Preparations were done quickly, and John lost himself in his work, scrubbing the manor from base to tip, making sure everything was fit for a king. Just when he thought he could relax for the night, John was requested to help out with serving the food.

Of course, the hall was decorated in magnificent black banners, guests crowding the table, waiting for the food to arrive. John took a moment to savour it, watching the head table in interest. The King sat in the middle, his face lined with grief, blond hair going prematurely grey. John had no doubt that the King loved his son dearly, and missed him fervently; it made John’s heart ache. The Duke sat on the King’s right, his eldest son, Mycroft, to the left. Sherlock sat to the right of his father, his mask of grief brightening slightly when he saw John.

“Get on.” An annoyed voice said behind him, giving him a shove. John knew it was the matron of the kitchen who had caught him gazing, which was unfortunate, as she already didn’t like him much. He would probably go without meat for a month for this. “You’ve got the King’s meal. Now get, you useless lump.”

John sighed, walking along the rows of benches that housed the lords and ladies of the court. The double taking from the court members didn’t bother him at first, but when it happened with almost every guest, John grew uncomfortable, wondering why they were all staring at him. He checked his clothes surreptitiously, noting that while they were dirty, they were no more disgusting than any common servant.

“Your highness.” John said, bowing low before the King, reaching forward to set the plate of food before him. “I humbly bring you your meal.”

John let go of the plate, turning to leave when a hand around his wrist stopped his movements.

“Look at me.” The strangely familiar voice of the King demanded, and John obliged, turning to face him, nervousness clear on his face. “You’re alive!”

“Pardon me, Your Highness?” John choked out, looking at the King in confusion. “I am alive, but I do not understand why that is a surprise to you…”

“I have looked for you for five years.” The King continued, his face alight with pain and love, an odd combination that left John reeling. “I have missed you so.”

“I apologise, Your Highness.” John said, shaking his head. “I do not know what you mean.”

“My son!” The King stood. “He is alive. Prince Johann stands before you today in servant’s clothes! Take down the black banners of mourning. My son is alive!”

As the lords and ladies of the court burst into applause, John turned to look at Sherlock as if he could explain what was going on, but was met with bewilderment, the brunet’s jaw dropped open in shock.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my [fic-a-palooza](http://robottko.tumblr.com/post/78390137972/guess-who-just-got-200-followers-thats-right%0A/)! Anonymous asked: "I have two favorite prompts, so I'd love anything you can do with either: royalty and amnesia."  
> So I did both.


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